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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24580606">cinnamon pillowcases amidst the rain</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_8/pseuds/sunflower_8'>sunflower_8</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Melancholy, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, vent - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:13:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,261</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24580606</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_8/pseuds/sunflower_8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>he curls against his pillow, crumpled, and he needs to purchase one that can support his neck but it has a vague scent of cinnamon and reminds him of sharing the bed with another, so he doesn’t know if it’d be worth it to sacrifice sensation for safety. he is warm, but it is dark and there’s a linger in the air, </p><p>and if he listens hard enough,</p><p>he can hear music.</p><p>(or, it's difficult to cope, and two boyfriends try to talk about it.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>131</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>cinnamon pillowcases amidst the rain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>the curtains are drawn shut, the rain of the evening making a quiet <em> pitter patter </em> noise as the spruce-scented candles with wood wicks crackle and glow. the room is a soft peach color, shadows dancing on painted beige walls, with an evergreen inflection - the light is welcoming, speaking to the furniture, <em> hello </em> s and <em> how are you today </em>s, and it all festers into this bruising melancholy of such an empty, beautiful place. the shadows pick up their dance, almost frantic, but the candle still crackles and the paint is still dried and cracking and it’s perfect aside from the weight of it all.</p><p> </p><p>he allows his eyes to trace the ceiling, a familiar sight after years of living in this same place, months upon months of staring at the walls, the vents, the bedsheets, the mattress. he needs to strip the bed and clean it, soon, but instead he is fixated on the small intricacies he only notices in moments like this, such as the sweatshirt draped over the back of a desk chair, books scattered on tables, an empty cup of coffee. </p><p> </p><p>it isn’t always like this. </p><p> </p><p>he curls against his pillow, crumpled, and he needs to purchase one that can support his neck but it has a vague scent of cinnamon and reminds him of sharing the bed with another, so he doesn’t know if it’d be worth it to sacrifice sensation for safety. he is warm, but it is dark and there’s a linger in the air, </p><p> </p><p>and if he listens hard enough,</p><p> </p><p>he can hear music.</p><p> </p><p>melodies make his heart hurt, no matter the lyrics or the rhythm. the fact that there’s something breathing in stilled instruments and voices that will soon ring out makes him feel as if there’s something he is lacking, an emotion he is missing. he is missing many, truthfully, because it is hard to carry the experience of singing in the kitchen over baking cookies when he is too drowned in guilt.<br/><br/>(he did make cookies, once. he almost set the house on fire, but his boyfriend had a bit of flour on his nose and his eyes crinkled with a smile like sunshine and he thought it was okay, maybe, if a few edges got burnt after all.</p><p> </p><p>they had kissed on the couch after, and chocolate tasted sweeter on his lips,</p><p> </p><p>and it feels a bit okay. but it’s hard to remember.)</p><p> </p><p>a step, and another. a door opens and he hides his eyes. he hears a sigh, the lock clicking shut again, and a presence sits beside him in his bed. a hand falls in his hair, brushing through the matted knots of white hair he yields. it’s fluffy, sometimes, but he doesn’t remember the last time he had enough energy to get out of bed and shower. it makes him feel disgusting. his boyfriend reminds him not to think of hair follicles as that, but rather a piece of him.</p><p> </p><p>it doesn’t help much, admittedly. his boyfriend knows that. </p><p> </p><p>speaking of which, he thinks, as he hears a hum above him. a warm, loving voice asks, “have you eaten dinner, nagito?” as hands play with his strands of hair.</p><p> </p><p>he shakes his head. tilts himself enough to rest his cheek against the other’s thigh, shifting further so he can lay in his lap. it feels painful, selfish, but his boyfriend never seems to mind. he smiles down at him, and he cannot meet hazel eyes. the kindness and sadness do not escape him, however, so he murmurs, “i’m not sure i can. i’m sorry, hajime.”</p><p> </p><p>hajime doesn’t scold him, instead leaning down to kiss his temple, his nose, his lips. nagito allows himself to close his eyes. “it’s okay. well, it’s not <em> okay, </em>because you deserve to be happy. but i understand. i promise i do.”</p><p> </p><p>“i can’t take care of myself,” he whispers, and the bedroom echoes with his confession. it’s loud and shattering; his hands twitch up to cover his ears, but hajime smooths his hair down and reassures him with a few <em> it’s okay </em> s, and he takes a deep breath before he says, even quieter, “i don’t know how to handle all this pain. and it’s fine, i can, but i don’t- i don’t know. i can’t convince myself to shower or eat or drink when i can hardly keep myself… <em> here. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>another kiss touches his forehead, and he hears the rain become a little stronger. it reminds him of tear-stained cheeks, kissing them and being kissed, nuzzling against necks and exchanging <em> you’re going to be okay </em> s in soft breaths. hajime does not hold scorn in his voice when he carefully inquires, “are you still taking the meds?”</p><p><br/><br/>“when i remember,” is his honest answer.</p><p> </p><p>“and when is that?”</p><p> </p><p>the shadows breathe.</p><p> </p><p>“i don’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>“it’s alright, nagito,” he caresses a cheek that is yet to bear tears but may. nights like these are difficult always - it’s a struggle to hold onto himself. “it’s okay to not know. but we should start making a schedule, yeah?” they have tried in the past, but nagito couldn’t get the bottles open and he was scared he would take them all and one day hajime was shouting - a long day of work - and he said <em> take them please </em>but nagito was shaking and gave up a few days later. “i know it’s hard to get out of bed in the morning. but whenever you have breakfast, take them.”</p><p> </p><p>“i <em> can’t </em>.” his voice breaks, and he knows it is irrational but he feels so idiotic, so vulnerable and dumb and broken, and hajime has told him that he isn’t that a thousand times, but he just wants to believe it, to be better, to be able to eat breakfast and take his meds instead of closing the curtains and laying in bed for hours. “i’m scared, hajime.”</p><p> </p><p>“i know you are,” he says, “i know. i’m sorry, nagito, that everything is so shitty. but it will be alright. i swear it.”</p><p> </p><p>“i’m tired.”</p><p> </p><p>hajime doesn’t call him out for the non-sequitur. “go to bed, then. we’ll talk tomorrow.”</p><p> </p><p>“i’m sorry,” he apologizes weakly.</p><p> </p><p>he shakes his head, “don’t apologize. c’mon, let’s lay down.”</p><p> </p><p>he rests his temple against hajime’s chest, arms wrapped tightly around him, and he relaxes in the slight scent of citrus that is carried in his boyfriend’s shirt. hajime kisses his head, checks his phone, mumbles to himself as he thinks of things, and nagito finds himself lost in the room with soft yellow blankets and a fucked-up guitar that hajime still holds onto; he clings to the strands of white hair littered on the bathroom floor and the birthday card hajime made him back when they first dated, a poorly-drawn person giving a thumbs up.</p><p> </p><p>(somewhere in the drawers, there are letters nagito wrote him with pressed lavender flowers and post-it notes hajime wrote on the bad days and shopping lists that nagito holds onto when he needs to <em> exist. </em>hajime doesn’t question it. he writes more notes, with time, and the collection grows.)</p><p> </p><p>there’s such a heaviness in him, and it hurts his chest and stings his eyes, this emptiness in himself and the depression that renders him immobile and quivering. but he shuts his eyes and shudders, hajime holding him closer, and he listens to the sound of rain and breathes the scent of wood and citrus, hoping that he will have a better day tomorrow.</p><p> </p><p>(the rain, candles, letters, sweatshirts, and embraces whisper, softly, that <em> it will be okay </em>.)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is a vent, which means that i likely messed up characterization. hinata and komaeda's dynamic, in all its complexity, isn't really something soft, i don't think. not to me. it is, but it isn't. i don't know. i'm thinking about that a lot, but i think that tenderness is important, too. comforting. if this even is comforting. it is to me. i think so, anyway. i hope so. </p><p>(sorry for the pointlessness of those thoughts, haha.)</p><p>everything is really hard right now. and there's a lot of pain that feels like it won't heal. you aren't alone, and i know that isn't reassuring to everyone. i'm sorry. but you aren't alone, and it will be okay. take care of yourself. drink water, eat some food, listen to music you like, take a walk. you can make it today. i promise.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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